If you’re feeling sick, don’t go to bed.
Sure, when you’re sick, the bed you’re in is a sickbed.
Are you sure it’s a sick bed?
It could be a deathbed.
And that’s where you’ll die.
Yes, you’ve been sleeping in that bed for years.
Not knowing that it’s actually a deathbed.
What about a daybed? Can a daybed be a sickbed or a deathbed?
Yes. Yes it can.
You won’t see it on the label, though.
And there’s no testing for it.
The only way you’ll find out is if you get sick.
Or, I suppose, if you die.
I love to plant flowers and herbs and vegetables.
This house has a big yard. And a bitch of a neighbor.
She rips out the herbs. She thinks they are ugly.
She rips out the rose bushes. She thinks they are too showy.
So, I planted climbing roses, the ones with thorns.
Let her try to pull those out.
And I invited her over for a visit.
Pointed to my garden.
And told her when she dies, I will plant all of this on her grave.
And she’s welcome to reach up from Hell and pull them down with her.
They call it the phone booth of the winds.
A phone booth set on a cliff in Japan by the ocean.
People come to the phone to call the dead.
They tell the dead not to worry about them, but they should.
They tell the dead that they miss them, and they should.
They tell the dead they will see them again soon, and they will.
And they hang up the phone, cry their tears, and step out of the booth.
Then they run to the cliff and leap over, to lose themselves in the ocean.
The phone never rings.
People die far too tidily for my liking. It’s just too sanitised and clean.
Zapped by lasers, vaporised by disintegration rays, or rendered to nothing by molecular disruptors… All very effective, but the recipients either vanish or simply slump to the floor in a nice tidy pose.
Where’s all the blood and guts? Bubbling body fluids, and gory splatters?
You’d think that in the future we could come up with more interesting ways to kill people?
Force fields that slice and dice, ray guns that splurge you over the spaceship walls?
If there’s one thing we should have learned from Covid, it’s that the smallest things can lead to the breakdown of society and the disintegration of life as we know it.
I’m not talking about the virus…
If you really want to plunge humanity into panic-stricken despair, take away our toilet rolls!
If you want to provoke social unrest and civil disobedience, tell us to wear masks and stand two metres apart, tell us phone masts spread viruses and vaccines are really tracking chips.
If you want to break our will, make us stay at home.
I’d prefer the virus!
What Could Go Possible Wrong 009
Something about time travel tends to bring out the worst and best of a person. Both extremes flooded Fords brain as he pressed Cevante’s neck. Did he really want to take the time lord out. Sure, he thought, end this endless racing up and down the time line. But wait, Arnesto was his friend, he would give up his life for him. Bout this moment is when the 1st Time Lord to the Queen disintegrated in his hand. “Damn you, you call that Disintegration?” He pressed the stem of his pocket watch and the Taix disintegrated. But the Arms Traven
Before Billbert had a chance to smile smugly at Sabrina’s surprise, she locked her arms around his neck and screamed, “Put me down!”
He equally didn’t want anyone to notice the two of them twenty feet above the ground, or to die from strangulation. He quickly dropped them back to the ground.
“How could you do that to me?” Sabrina shouted at Billbert.
Confused, Billbert said, “It’s not like I froze you in a block of ice or shot you with a disintegration ray. We flew.”
Sabrina stumbled around like the ground shifted beneath her feet. “You don’t know me.”
As a species, we Humans had been resilient in all our forms over the many generations since we expanded beyond Earth: Native, Extraplanetary-Evo, GMO-Differentiated, Enviro-Adaptive, Hybridized, and so on. In the four-plus centuries that have passed since we started colonizing the galaxy, we had yet to meet an enemy that we hadn’t defeated or integrated with. Until we met the Cockroaches. Well, we called them that; they called themselves Kodefarian – as far as can be represented in our tongue. Whatever. When we encountered them, there was nothing we could do: their weapons induced entropy in whatever they hit – instant disintegration.
Landry’s plane was going Mach 2 when it completely disintegrated on him.
Fragments of the fuselage tore Laundry apart.
The fuel pods ignited into a massive fireball, incinerating the shredded pieces of Landry’s body.
A cloud of metal bits, bone shards, and ash rained down.
Investigators had nothing much to work with, most of the plane had turned to dust.
Was it the fuel? A manufacturing defect?
Some strange vibration or harmonic?
Nobody wanted to be the next guy to go up.
So the investigators marked it as a sunspot and closed the file, paying Landry’s widow a big settlement.
Every week, I post a topic for the Weekly Challenge, where you come up with the stories and I collect them up and share them.
Want to give it a try? The topic of the next 100 Word Stories Weekly Challenge is …Since records began
Write a 100 word story on that topic. Then, send it in an email to isfullofcrap (at) gmail.com with the subject line of WEEKLY CHALLENGE.
Include the following:
The text of your story.
A topic or topics for future Weekly Challenges.
A website where people can learn more about you and your writing, include the URL to that website.
A recording of your story. Be sure to introduce yourself to the audience.
I put the episode together on Sunday morning. But, if you need more time, I can put your story up on the feed in a separate post.
Good luck, and as always… keep it brief.
JAN 3 Fire
JAN 10 Why is mother crying?
JAN 17 Get a life!
JAN 24 How does that grab you?
JAN 31 Prowling, Canon, Everything, To/Too/Two, Risk, Delinquent, Spray Tan
FEB 7 Smalltalk
FEB 14 Pizza
FEB 21 Wine
FAN 28 Ruins, Cone, A toast!, Rebel, Dive, Name change, Glow
MAR 7 Tilting
MAR 14 Behind a bush
MAR 21 Unlimited
MAR 28 Remember only this…, Scope, Church, Melt, Fade, Bare
APR 4 River crossing
APR 11 Advanced
APR 18 Saint
APR 25 Fuming, Bean, When will it stop raining, Vaccine, Quarantine, Helmet, Tin
MAY 2 List
MAY 9 Stay safe
MAY 16 Don’t press the button!
MAY 23 Hand
MAY 30 Address, Blundering buffoon, Bunny, View, Wizard, What’s that on the horizon?, Bark
JUN 6 Trade
JUN 13 Riding shotgun
JUN 20 Prompt
JUN 27 Crystalline, Copper, Outbreak, Demure, Paper thin, Bonus, Bleach
JUL 4 So many questions
JUL 11 Needle
JUL 18 Letter
JUL 25 Can you help me?, Enough, Market, Trial, Bundle, The noise is driving me mad!, Inventory
AUG 1 Discard
AUG 8 Misnomer
AUG 15 If I had a nickel for every time
AUG 22 Where do I begin?
AUG 29 Full, Where did they go?, Barrel, Your call, Universally, Joint, Some might say…
SEP 5 Doubtful
SEP 12 Over to you…
SEP 19 The heat of the moment
SEP 26 Craft, Ceremoniously, Empty spaces, Clickbait, Disposal protocol, You saved my life, Level
OCT 3 Binge
OCT 10 After
OCT 17 Disintegration
OCT 24 …Since records began
OCT 31 Vase, Rub, Top, Spring fresh, Chime, The End, Crop
NOV 7 Unsure
NOV 14 Arson
NOV 21 What’s that on your face?
NOV 28 Square, Unexpected message, Formation, The door flew open, Fret, Prediction, Jelly fish
DEC 5 Bee
DEC 12 Store
DEC 19 Left
DEC 26 Don’t push me…, Animated, Compassion, Indifferent, Ally, Whale, A fork in the road
THE REST OF THE TOPICS
Fight fire with fire
A thin veneer
I was very young
Are we there yet?
I’ll be there
Too much to bear
The sweet smell of success
Every good intention
Thousands of years
What happens next?
The way we were
The wrong words
A word from an unknown language.
Put that thing down
Horror on the subway!
As far as the eye can see
Frozen in time
Riot of color
It’s a dirty job
Why should I?
Eaten by lions
The lion that ate cherries
Hard to believe
It’s a pattern
Crack of dawn
Some guy/girl I met online
Fog a mirror
Long live The King
You’ll never believe…
One two three…
You never know
All our tomorrows
In my hand
Cut and dried
I swore that I would write one story a day until the day I die.
But, lately, I haven’t been writing them every day.
I go a few days without writing a story, and then I write a few stories to make up for the shortfall.
They’re not good, and I throw them in the trash.
Okay, so I’ve written a story every day, so technically that counts, right?
Or maybe I’m just dying a little inside every day, and time is finally catching up with me.
I’d write more, but this is another one to throw in the trash.
“October is coming,” said the ghost.
The room smelled like burnt hair.
Arthur lit a candle and looked around.
Torn, moldy wallpaper.
Rotten wood furniture, a table and a chair.
A rusty knife on the table.
Was that rust? Or was it blood?
Arthur looked for a door, but couldn’t find one.
He felt the walls for a seam.
How did he get here?
Had he been drugged, and put in here, and the walls sealed shut?
Dropped from the ceiling? It looked solid enough.
A trap door? None under the carpet.
“October is here,” said the ghost.
Henry was never meant to be king.
He was the seventh son of the king.
But one by one, his brothers died.
Sickness. Accidents. War. Assassinations.
Six graves in the royal graveyard.
And, surrounded by guards, Henry standing over them, laying a flower on each.
“Get back inside,” said his father, pushing him.
Being exposed to the outdoors and the risks there was too much.
He stayed inside the castle, no windows, no sunlight.
When his father died, he threw open every shutter.
“Let the sun greet its king!” shouted Henry.
And he fell, an arrow buried in his neck.
It was 3 days ride from Skara Brae to the castle.
The town priest had soaked our horses’ shoes in holy water, and the weather stayed clear, no bandits crossed our path in the deep woods.
“They fear the red pennant,” said our tracker. “One does not steal from those who ride for the crown.”
The ghosts of the green swamp respect no banners, so we camped on the second night, waited for their wailing to end with the sun’s rise, and crossed the gloom on the third morning.
All was for naught.
The castle had burned to the ground.